


Jingle Bell Doc

by the_random_writer



Series: Trek Tales [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Crack, Christmas Party, Crack, Flirting, Gen, Gift Exchange, Porn Watching, Secret Santa, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: It's the evening of the ship's Secret Santa gift exchange, and Leonard has just presented Mister Spock with a rather outrageous gift.Loosely connected to the previous entries in the series, but can be read as a standalone story.





	

Contrary to all predictions and expectations, Leonard was actually having fun. And for once, not just because the occasion involved copious amounts of booze. Two extremely generous servings of Scotty's signature Christmas punch would put anyone in a merry mood (as long as they didn't dwell too long on the damage to their kidneys and liver), but even without the double helping of hooch, he would still be enjoying the evening's proceedings.

He winced as he drained his cup. Jesus. Scotty had really gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight. Leonard could drink with the best and the toughest of them, but this was _seriously_ potent stuff. He hadn't been able to figure out what kind of liquor the engineer had used as the base, but all things considered, that was probably for the best. Whatever it was, he was fairly sure that if he didn't want to wake up tomorrow feeling like he'd been partially murdered in his sleep, he should probably stop at two.

He set his now empty cup down on a nearby table, then leaned his head against the wall and slowly scanned around the room. He'd spent most of the last two hours mingling and chatting, catching up with various members of the crew, and now he needed some peace and quiet to charge his people batteries back to full.

The Secret Santa gift exchange had so far been an enormous success, much to Uhura's delight. He knew it had taken time and effort to pull the event together, so for her sake, he was glad it had borne such well-received fruit. To Nyota's enormous surprise, all seventy-eight of the participants had stuck to the Captain's rules. Nobody had spent too much money (as far as anyone could tell) and all of the gifts had been utterly and outrageously silly.

Leonard's own gift was on the table next to his abandoned cup. It was some kind of game, but designed to be played on an old-fashioned, two-dimensional, non-holographic board. It was called 'Operation', and according to the lurid graphics on the front, it had a humorous but medical theme. He honestly had no idea who his Secret Santa was, but if he had to guess, he would point a finger at Hikaru first. The helmsman had a knack for appropriate and thoughtful gifts, but also an eye for the interesting and the esoteric, as evidenced by his growing collection of swords and carnivorous plants. Leonard intended to try the game out as soon as he had the chance, if only to prove to Christine once and for all that he did indeed have the finest and steadiest hands in the fleet.

The other seventy-seven gifts had all been equally entertaining. The Captain was already wearing his—a skintight, mood-reactive t-shirt boldly emblazoned with the words 'FUCKER IN CHARGE OF YOU FUCKING FUCKS'. The garment was currently morphing from a lively orange to a rather delicate shade of pink, which Leonard could only assume meant Jim was in a cheerful mood. Good. They all worked hard, and they all had their burdens to bear, but Jim's were heaviest of all. In the CMO's not-remotely-humble opinion, his friend needed to relax and enjoy himself wherever, whenever and however he could. The colourful language on the shirt wasn't exactly becoming to the dignity of the Captain's position, but then, it had almost certainly been given to him by Lieutenant McDonald, whose talent for swearing was second to none and could make even a Tellarite blush with shame.

Not for the first time, Leonard made a mental note to never introduce the young woman to his mom…

Not that he had any right to complain about other people's risqué choices, considering what he'd secretly given to Spock. He was pretty sure his contribution had won the award for the rudest gift, although the purchaser of Scotty's present had given him a damn good run for his money. He grinned as he remembered the moment of revelation, and the various expressions that had then flitted across the Vulcan's face. A second of surprise and shock, then a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of outrage and indignation, then one corner of his normally firm and serious mouth had ever-so-slightly curled up. For Spock, that was the equivalent of doubling over and laughing until he ran out of breath.

The Vulcan was currently hovering at the edge of an animated conversation, but appeared to be making no attempt to join in. In fact, he looked rather pensive, as if he was focusing his prodigious mental talents on trying to figure out who had given him the shocking gift.

"Good luck on that one," Leonard murmured to himself.

Out of the blue, a hand appeared in front of his face, holding yet another cup of the deadly but delicious punch. He soon discovered the hand (and the cup) belonged to Catherine McDonald.

Unlike most of the party's other guests, who had chosen to change into casual attire, she was still wearing her regulation Engineering Red dress, but had trimmed the collar, cuffs and hem with some kind of white, artificial fur. At least, he assumed it was artificial. God only knows what she'd uncovered during her recent expedition into the ship's lower stores.

As if the red and white tunic wasn't ridiculously festive enough, she had also adorned her head with a pair of holographic antlers, and fixed a large, black, buckled belt around her slender waist. Her long hair was down for the night (in both the literal and figurative sense), and her cheeks were pleasantly flushed. That flush, along with the slight, glassy look in her eyes, told him she'd already consumed at least two cups of Scotty's brew.

He gave her a thoroughly disapproving glare. "You look like what we'd end up with if Santa Claus had sex with a moose," he told her in a reproachful tone. Was a reindeer the same thing as a moose? He couldn't remember. Not that it really mattered. He was a doctor, dammit, not an animal wrangler.

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Not my fault I love the holiday season so much," she said with a beaming grin, pushing the cup forward again. "We can't all be as miserable and curmudgeonly about it as you."

He took the container from her and nodded a silent thanks. So much for his plan to stop at two.

"You'll be the miserable one in the morning if you don't slow down with the punch," he warned. "That's real booze Scotty's putting in it, you know. None of the safe, re-sequenced, synthohol shit you usually drink. The way you're pounding it back, you're gonna spend most of the next forty-eight hours talking to God on the great white intercom."

Another more casual shrug. "I'm not on duty again until later tomorrow night," she told him. "Plenty of time to work through the pain." Then she gave him an affronted look. "And you're a fine one to go lecturing other people about having too much to drink."

Leonard huffed. "Young lady, I'll have you know I only consume alcohol for medicinal reasons."

"Och, away and shite yerself," she muttered as she flopped into an adjacent seat. "If you only drink for medicinal reasons, then I'm the bloody Queen of Sheba."

He grinned and took a sip of his punch. He noticed her accent was coming through, as it usually did when she was angry or drunk. Not that he was any better. By the time he reached the end of this cup, he would probably sound like Ashley Wilkes or Scarlett O'Hara.

"So where'd you find the shirt?" he asked, gesturing at Captain Kirk, who was now attired in a pleasant, soothing shade of green.

McDonald gave an offended snort. "What makes you think I gave him the bloody thing?"

"Sweetheart, you must think I was born yesterday," Leonard retorted. "You curse like it's an Olympic goddamn sport. You're the only person I know who's ever dropped a c-bomb in the middle of a Starfleet briefing and survived to tell the tale. That t-shirt has your name stamped all over it in sparkly gold letters. You might be the Queen of Sheba, but if you didn't give the Captain that thing, then I'm the goddamn King of Mars."

She flashed him a wicked grin, effectively admitting her guilt. "You're not gonnae rat me out to the big man now, are you?"

"Don't worry," he told her. "Your secret's safe with me."

"To be honest, I'm just glad he actually liked it. I swear to God, Leonard, when I got the message telling me I'd been assigned to Captain Kirk, I almost had to change my pants."

He snorted and nodded, remembering his own none too rational reaction when Spock's name had come up on his screen. If ever he'd needed proof that the universe was a sentient force with a truly terrible sense of humour, that moment had probably been it. He'd almost considered asking Nyota to swap him out with someone else, but had eventually decided to stay the course, if only out of concern that he would give up Spock but end up with Elonat or Keenser instead.

He was still trying to figure out why the stoic Science Officer had even decided to sign up. How logical could a Silly Secret Santa be? He detected Uhura's hand at work, there. When it came to talking people into doing things they normally wouldn't want to do, she was almost as dangerously persuasive as Jim.

"And again, you've got a bloody cheek to talk," McDonald quietly complained.

He shot her a quizzical look. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You've no right to criticize me for buying a t-shirt with big sweary words on it, considering what you just gave to Mister Spock."

Now it was Leonard's turn to assume a defensive pose. "What makes you think that came from me?" he calmly demanded to know.

"Oh, gimme a fucking break. Who the hell else in this room would be daft enough and brave enough to give a Vulcan science officer a _skin movie_? And a skin movie _made on Vulcan_ at that?"

"I couldn't possibly comment," he said, flashing his most innocent smile. "And in case you hadn't noticed, he's only half-Vulcan."

McDonald tutted and rolled her eyes. "Like that makes any bloody difference." In a more serious tone, she asked, "You think he'll actually watch it?"

Leonard shrugged. "No idea. Half of me thinks he should, but half of me worries it might give him some kind of mental breakdown."

"Maybe Nyota will make him watch it with her," she commented, snickering slightly.

"I doubt it," he countered. "Did you see her face when he showed her what the present was?"

McDonald shook her head. "No, I didn't. Was she mad?"

"Let's just say I'm very glad this whole thing was a _Secret_ Santa."

"She doesn't really approve of skin, so she'll take her hand off your face when she finds out it came from you," the engineer warned, using one of those strange Scottish phrases Leonard wasn't entirely sure he understood.

"It's not the taking off I'm worried about," he muttered tartly. "It's more the putting on at high speed that concerns me."

"Aye, especially since she hasn't forgiven you for that incident in the swimming pool last month with the giant inflatable shark."

"Don't remind me," he replied, huffing slightly.

"Somebody should watch the bloody thing, if only for educational purposes. I mean, who knew Vulcans even _made_ skin?"

"They don't."

McDonald frowned. "Then where the hell did the bloody thing come from?"

"I read up the entry in the ship's computer," he told her, still amazed the library files contained any kind of information about twenty-year-old pornographic movies. "All the actors are human. They're just wearing body paint and prosthetics."

"Really?" the young woman exclaimed. "Well, that's _very_ disappointing."

"Hmm," was all he said. Disappointing wasn't the word that came to mind for him, but each to their own.

"I guess the title of the movie should have given the game away," she pointed out.

"Don't see why."

"Oh, come on, Leonard. _Mounting Seleya_? Really? You think even if Vulcans did actually make skin, they'd have the sheer effrontery to call it that?"

"Yeah, I guess."

The corner of McDonald's mouth twitched. "Maybe you should watch it," she said, taking another swig of her punch.

"No, thanks," he politely replied. "To be honest, I'm not really a skin movie kind of guy."

"Leonard, if you're about to tell me that skin offends your genteel southern sensibilities, I swear I'll pour this cup of hooch all over your bloody crotch."

"Nothing to do with my southern sensibilities, genteel or otherwise," he protested. "Just that I've never really been much of a watcher."

Another gentle twitch. "Maybe you should watch it with Captain Kirk."

Leonard's head whipped up in surprise. "And why on God's green earth would I want to do that?"

"Isn't that the kind of thing couples are supposed to do?" she asked, with a look on her face as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

He let out an astonished laugh. "You think Jim and I are a couple?"

McDonald heaved a tolerant but weary sigh. "Doctor, I hate to break it to you, but half the people on this ship think you and the Captain are a couple."

"And why the hell would they think that?"

"I've no fucking idea. I just fix machines for a living. You're the one with all the fancy medical letters after your name, so you tell me."

"I'm a doctor, dammit, not a dating consultant."

She shrugged again. "Maybe they're all just fascinated by the thought of the two of you playing a mutual game of hide the sausage."

"Jim and I are _not_ having sex."

"Maybe you should be. You'd probably be a _lot_ less grumpy if you were getting some decent action."

"I'm getting all the goddamn action I need, thank you very much."

She looked at him askance. "What, with Pamela and her five sisters?"

"You leave my ex-wife out of this," he groused. "And she only has two sisters. Neither of whom I would _ever_ sleep with."

"You shouldn't be so defensive, Leonard. The Captain's a very attractive man, so everyone just thinks you have excellent taste."

"For the last time, I am not having sex with Captain Kirk!" he said, slightly louder than he'd intended, just as the room fell into one of those awkward, quiet, subtle pauses. Seventy-seven pairs of eyes gave him a quizzical look, including the baby blues belonging to their fearless leader.

Slowly but surely, Jim's t-shirt started to change from a pleasant, soothing shade of green to a distinctly muddy-looking brown.

"Look what you did now," Leonard complained, gesturing at the shimmering shirt. "You gave him anxiety."

"Och, he's fine," McDonald said, flapping a dismissive hand. "As long as it doesn't turn dark purple or black, there's nothing to worry about."

"What do dark purple and black mean?"

"That he's either suicidal or homicidal."

"Who the hell makes a t-shirt that shows when you're homicidal?"

"Who the hell makes fake Vulcan skin?"

"Fair point."

They paused as a shadow fell across their laps. They looked up in unison, to find themselves in the august presence of the Chief Engineer.

"Something one of us can do for you, Sir?" McDonald politely enquired.

Her formal tone surprised McCoy, but then, Scotty was her CO, and she was still treading carefully after the incident a few months ago with the water slide on Deck Ten. Scotty had ranted about it for weeks, although Leonard suspected that was only because nobody had invited him to join in on the fun.

"Aye, Katie, there is," Scotty started in a disarmingly agreeable tone. "I was just wondering, was it you or him," he continued, waving a hand at McCoy, "who gave Mister Spock his gift?"

Leonard looked at Catherine. Catherine looked back at him. Then, at precisely the same time and to precisely the same degree, they lifted their shoulders in a shrug and raised their glasses to their lips.

Scotty folded his arms across his chest and fixed them with a malevolent glare. "Oh, come on," he grumbled at them. "I know it was one of you cheeky sods."

"Aye, and what if it was?" McDonald protested. "Do you no' understand what the Secret part of Secret Santa means?"

Scotty opened his mouth, preparing to put the uncooperative Lieutenant in her place, but Leonard beat him to the punch. The last thing he wanted to listen to or deal with tonight was two inebriated, squabbling Scots.

"We might be more willing to talk if we knew what your angle was," he calmly proclaimed.

Scotty frowned. "What do you mean, my angle?"

"Why do you want to know who bought it?" Leonard clarified. "I mean, it can't be because you want to _watch_ it, because then you'd be talking to Spock or Nyota instead of the two of us."

Scotty blushed, cleared his throat and pulled at the neck of his alarmingly flamboyant shirt. "Oh, eh, no particular reason, doctor," he said as innocently as he could. "Just a wee bit curious about where it came from, you know? I mean it's not the kind of thing you just stumble across in any old shop, now, is it?"

Leonard snorted. Now wasn't _that_ the goddamn truth? Four hours he'd spent plodding around in one of Yorktown's many shopping plazas. Four long, exasperating hours during which he'd almost lost both his sanity and the will to live.

"I can't give you a definitive answer on that one, Scotty, since I didn't actually _buy_ the item, but I hear there's a very unusual shopping district on Yorktown that's full of all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff."

Weird and wonderful didn't even begin to describe some of the items he'd seen. The shop in which he'd found Spock's gift had also contained a near-mint-condition Araxian honour dagger. He'd been halfway to buying the thing for Jim's next birthday present before he remembered that honour daggers were sacred relics, protected by various cultural laws. Since a round of prison wasn't in his plans, he'd been forced to leave it on the shelf, as rare and beautiful as it was.

"Oh, aye? And eh, where might this very unusual shopping district be?" Scotty enquired, then hastily added, "Just out of curiosity, you understand."

Leonard grinned. Did he ever. "Well, based on what I've heard from other people, it's apparently called the Westwind Plaza, and I think you want to focus on Level Two, Section A."

"Westwind, Level Two, Section A," Scotty quietly repeated. "Thank you Leonard. As always, _you've_ been very helpful." He shot McDonald a departing glare.

Leonard turned to his companion. "Your boss doesn't seem to like you very much right now," he commented. "He's not still pissed about the whole water slide thing, is he?"

McDonald shook her head. "Nah, he's fine. It's because my favourite tri-ball team just humped his in the national finals. This time next week, he'll be back to his usual sunny self."

"I'll take your word for it."

"It's not as if you're any nicer when you talk to your staff."

Leonard huffed. "I'm a perfect gentlemen when I talk to my staff."

"That's not what Christine says."

"Don't listen to her," he warned. "Woman's the best nurse I've ever had, but she's also a goddamn smartass. Almost as bad as you."

"I don't know about the ass bit, but she's certainly smart," McDonald replied. "You should be living in fear of the day she earns her medical degree. You think she gives you shit now, wait until you and her are the same rank."

"Don't remind me."

She patted him gently on the knee. "And don't worry too much about her opinion of you. It's _mostly_ nice."

"Mostly?"

She flashed him another grin. Then her face fell into a more thoughtful pose. "Speaking of being nice," she started slowly.

"Uh huh?"

"If you say please, and you bring along a half decent bottle of something vaguely alcoholic, you could _maybe_ persuade me to watch the movie with you," she said as nonchalantly as she could.

Leonard's eyebrows shot up towards his hair. "The skin movie?" he asked.

"Yeah. That one."

He frowned and quietly cleared his throat. Oh, Lordy. This conversation was taking an entirely unexpected turn.

"But only in the name of science, right?" he asked, buying some time to figure out where he even wanted this discussion to go.

"Of course," she gamely replied.

"I mean, I suppose I could provide some insight on the… anatomical challenges."

"And I could explain just how badly they're breaking the laws of physics."

Leonard scrunched his face. "How the hell is anyone in a skin movie set on Vulcan gonna break the laws of physics?"

"Because I guarantee there'll be at least one sequence where they try to have sex in zero gee. It's practically a legal requirement."

"Yeah, so?"

McDonald sighed. "Leonard, have you ever tried to have sex in zero gee?"

"Can't say I have, no." Surprisingly, given his antipathy to any form of plane or boat, he wasn't bothered by zero gee, but that didn't mean he ever wanted to get naked in it.

"Trust me, it's not as easy as it looks," was her ominous advice. "Needs a lot of very careful coordination. And a _very_ good understanding of Newton's Third Law."

Leonard chuckled. "To be fair, I don't think yours was the kind of body Newton had in mind when he wrote it."

"This is true."

For the second time that night, a shadow cut across their view.

This time, the visitor was Captain Kirk. He was slightly flushed—probably from drinking too much of the powerful punch—and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"You looking to join us, Jim?" Leonard asked, nodding at an empty chair.

Still grinning, the Captain ignored the doctor's query and turned his attention to the Lieutenant. "Miss McDonald, if you don't mind, I was hoping to have a quick word in private with my CMO," he said.

McDonald nodded. "No problem, Sir. I should probably go keep an eye on Pavel, anyway. Make sure he doesn't pour a whole bottle of vodka into the punch while Scotty's looking the other way."

She stood up, smoothed down the hem of her dress, then turned to head towards the bar. She'd barely taken half a step before she stopped and swivelled back.

"Doctor, think about what I said, about that… science experiment. You know where to find me if you decide you want to give it a go."

He briefly saluted her with his glass. "Lieutenant, I promise you'll be the first to know."

Jim watched as she sauntered away, frowning slightly. "What the hell was that all about?" he asked. "What science experiment?"

Leonard waved the question off. "Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue eyes about."

The Captain shrugged, then plopped into the vacated seat.

"So, what's up?" Leonard politely asked.

"Oh, nothing much," Jim replied, taking a sip of his punch. "Just wanted to know where in the seven rings of hell you found that movie."

Leonard tutted and rolled his eyes. At this rate, he might as well ask Uhura to open a shipwide channel for him so he could announce his Secret Santa status to the entire crew.

"What makes you think it was me who bought it?"

"Seriously? You even need to ask? Who the hell else on this ship has the nerve to do something as bold and morally dubious as _that_?"

"I'm saying nothing."

"Oh, c'mon Bones, don't be like _that_ ," Jim admonished. "If it's any consolation, everyone was really impressed." Then he frowned slightly. "Except Nyota. I think she just wants to cut your balls off with a rusty spoon."

"Great."

"She might feel differently once she's watched it."

Leonard snorted. "Like that's actually gonna happen."

"Spock assured me he's gonna check it out."

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Told me it looked, and I quote—"

"Fascinating?" Leonard interjected.

Jim huffed and shook his head. "As a matter of fact, no, that wasn't the word he used. He told me it looked _stimulating_."

"Stimulating?"

"Yup."

"Jesus," Leonard muttered. "Not sure I even want to imagine what a stimulated Vulcan looks like."

Jim grinned again. "You could always ask Nyota."

"No thanks. I might be bold and have dubious morals, but I'm not suicidal."

"She'd be too busy sawing your manhood off with a fork to answer your question anyway."

Leonard rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should probably just go throw myself out of an airlock. Cleaner. Quicker. Probably less painful as well."

Jim patted him gently on the arm. "I wouldn't worry too much, Bones," he advised. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Lieutenant McDonald would be happy to come to your defense."

"I dunno about that. She might just offer to hold me down."

"Would be an interesting match-up."

"What, Uhura up against McDonald?"

"Yeah."

"Your idea of interesting is obviously very different from mine," Leonard explained to his friend. "Just thinking about what the two of them would do to each other makes me need another drink."

"Really? You don't think it'd be fun to watch?"

"You're not the one who'd have to fix all of the broken bones. And trust me, what those two women are capable of, there'd be a _lot_ of broken bones."

"True."

"Speaking of matching people up," Leonard started with a shit-eating grin, "did you know we're apparently having sex?"

Jim choked on his mouthful of punch. "We are?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, when did this happen? I know I don't have the best memory, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember _that_."

You bet your corn-fed, Iowan ass you would."

"Oh, so you think you're that good?"

"Jimbo, a young lady friend of mine once told me that sex with me was so good, it was like having a threesome with one guy," Leonard explained, grinning again.

Now it was Jim's turn to snort. "I'm gonna assume the young lady friend in question wasn't your ex-wife."

"No, it wasn't, but she didn't have anything to complain about, either. Our marriage had a lot of problems, but the sex was never one of them."

Their conversation faded away as Sulu strode up to their seats. He was frowning intently, and very slightly out of breath.

Uh oh. That was never a good sign.

"Sorry to interrupt, Sir," the helmsman said, looking straight at Jim. "There's a minor fracas going on over near the kitchen station, and I think your… calming influence is required."

Leonard grinned. Calming influence, indeed. That was diplomatic Sulu speak for 'please come and tell these inebriated morons to shut the hell up unless they want to spend the rest of the night in the brig'.

Kirk sighed. "Are Scotty and Chekov arguing about the blend again?" he asked wearily.

Sulu gave a sheepish nod, looking embarrassed on his friend's behalf. "Pavel made a joke about Christmas being a Russian invention, and…" he trailed off, shrugging slightly. "It went downhill pretty fast from there."

Jim heaved himself to his feet, tugged his t-shirt into place and waved at Sulu to lead the way.

"A Captain's work is never done," he declared almost mournfully, but as he spoke, his t-shirt turned to a lovely, sunshine shade of yellow, so it obviously wasn't too much of a burden to bear.

No sooner had the Captain left than Spock arrived to take his place.

Well, wasn't he just the most popular guy in town tonight? So much for taking a quiet moment to charge his batteries back to full.

Leonard gave a welcoming nod. "Mister Spock."

"Doctor McCoy," the Science Officer replied.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Spock took on a pensive look. "Yes, doctor. I believe I am," he eventually revealed.

"Congratulations, Spock. You've figured out how to enjoy the office Christmas party, which is more than a lot of humans can say. I can go to my grave a happy and contented man."

"I fail to understand how my participation in human social occasions should in any way influence your ability to embrace the finality of your own death."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

But he'd neglected to remember just how good the Science Officer's hearing was. "An interesting question, Doctor McCoy," the Vulcan politely observed. "Tell me, why _do_ you bother?"

Leonard huffed and gave his colleague a murderous glare. "Are you just here to give me shit, Spock, or did you actually want something?"

He swore Spock almost smiled. "I simply wished to express my gratitude for the most thoughtful and intriguing gift."

Christ. Not another one. Was he really so easy to figure out?

"The hell makes you think it came from me? And please, for the love of baby Jesus, don't say it's because I'm the only person involved in this thing who's either stupid enough or brave enough to pick something so outrageous. Based on the weird as hell injuries the idiots on this ship somehow keep managing to come up with, lemme tell you, that is absolutely _not_ the case."

"Not at all, Leonard," Spock replied. "I was able to ascertain the identity of my Secret Santa by a much simpler means."

"Oh?"

"I recognized the handwriting on the tag."

"Oh."

Dammit. So much for the old-fashioned, personal touch. He should have followed Christine's advice and printed out a label instead.

Goddamn smartass nurses, goddamn smartass Vulcans, goddamn smartass Scottish engineers. The whole smartass lot of them could kiss his golden Georgian cheeks.

"Well, Spock, what can I say? You found me out, so here's to your viewing pleasure," he offered, lifting his cup in another salute. "And while I've got you in a grateful mood, I don't suppose you'd care to do me a favour, and have a real nice word in Nyota's ear? Persuade her that killing me would probably be a bad idea?"

Spock let out a quiet sigh. "Leonard, I am a man of many superior talents, but I am not sure even _I_ would be able to achieve such a momentous feat," he admitted in a solemn tone, then added, "But I will try."

"Well, thank you, Spock. As much as it almost physically pains me to admit it, that's mighty kind of you."

"I can assure you, Doctor McCoy, that I am not offering out of kindness."

"Oh?"

"I am merely considering how the loss of the CMO could negatively impact the health and welfare of the crew," the Vulcan advised. "Especially as we are not scheduled to return to Yorktown for another fourteen weeks."

"And a replacement CMO might not tolerate your superior, logical, pointy-eared bullshit as much as I do."

Spock raised an elegant brow and clasped his hands behind his back. "Indeed."

Leonard heard a familiar laugh coming from the other side of the room. It belonged to Catherine McDonald, and had almost certainly been triggered by one of Chekov's jokes.

Hmm. That reminded him of something else he needed to do.

"Spock?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"Regardless of whether you actually watch the damn thing, at some point, could I maybe borrow the movie from you?"

The Vulcan's brow shot up again. "Of course," was his perfectly serene response. "And perhaps after you have viewed it, you might be willing to compare opinions?"

It took Leonard a couple of seconds to realize Spock was making a joke. Fine. If that was how it was going to be, he could damn well give as good as he got.

"Why the hell not? You tell me what you thought of the acting and the dialogue, I'll tell you what I thought of the character motivations and the narrative structure."

Spock nodded his assent. "I am sure it will be a most fascinating conversation. Now, if you will excuse me, Nyota is indicating that she would like me to bring her another drink."

The Vulcan quietly strode away to see to his beloved's request.

Leonard swirled his punch around in his cup and considered his next move. Which option should he take? Safe but extremely boring or dangerous but potentially fun?

_Come one, Lenny, what's the worst that can happen? You've got the rest of your life to be boring. Take a page out of Jim's book for once, and go do the thing, before the booze wears off and you lose your nerve._

Decision made, he drained the contents of his cup, pushed himself up out of his chair and quickly threaded his way through the now-thinning crowd. He zeroed in on Lieutenant McDonald (who was indeed listening to Chekov's latest amusing tale), tapped her gently on the shoulder, then indicated for them to move to a quieter corner of the room.

"So," he said, trying to sound as calm and matter-of-fact as Spock. "This science experiment you were talking about."

She narrowed her eyes and cautiously asked, "Yeah, what about it?"

"Two questions."

She made a 'continue' motion with her hand.

"Question one. Beer or wine?"

"What?"

"You said I would have to bring along something vaguely alcoholic," he reminded her. "We should probably stay away from the serious liquor, so that leaves either beer or wine. What's your preference?"

"Wine," was her quick response. "And I like it chilled, well-aged and slightly fruity," she added with a shit-eating grin. "The same way I like my men."

"Question two," he continued, ignoring the appalling pun. "A bit more important."

"Uh huh?"

"Is it gonna be at your place or mine?"


End file.
